


Changing Season

by r_grayjoy



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-18
Updated: 2010-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_grayjoy/pseuds/r_grayjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the events of HBP, Harry goes in search of Snape.  What he ultimately finds is, of course, not at all what he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Season

**Author's Note:**

> Written for harry_holidays 2006. My very first Snarry! ;)

**Changing Season**

Harry crept through the bleak forest, the last weak glimmers of gray daylight filtering down through the branches of the trees above him to cast irregular shadows on the leaf-strewn ground. It was early in the winter yet, but already a bitter chill had settled in to strip the trees of their foliage and rob the landscape of its color here in the north of Scotland. Pushing aside useless longings for a cozy fire and a warm bed, Harry continued onward and thought about the irony of his search having brought him nearly full circle.

As the war continued around him, Harry had spent the last two years painstakingly tracking down and destroying every last one of the Horcruxes, every last fractured piece of Tom Riddle's twisted soul. Of course he had wanted to join the Order in fighting the Death Eaters, but he knew that to do so would be pointless as long as Voldemort was effectively invincible. So he sat back and did nothing (or so it often felt) while friends and acquaintances were hurt and killed. Now, at long last, Harry had only the Dark Lord himself left to confront. The Dark Lord and his most faithful servant.

 _Snape._ The name itself sent a seething, roiling hatred through Harry that had not diminished with the passage of time. It was that hatred that had driven him to this remote place. In truth he had disposed of the final Horcrux weeks ago, but he had done so silently and told no one. He only wanted to buy a little time; time with which he could track down Snape and dispose of _him_. It would be good practice for when he faced Voldemort, he reasoned, and it would also be wise to eliminate Snape in advance so that he wouldn't have to fight both of them at once. And if he was also motivated in part by a desire for retribution, who could truly blame him? The loathsome man was responsible for the deaths of his parents, his godfather, and his mentor.

Surprisingly, it had not taken Harry long at all to locate his quarry once he was able to devote his full attention to the search. In the end his quest had brought him back to Scotland, only a few kilometers from Hogwarts where he had first met the traitorous Potions Master. The end of the line turned out to be a small, ramshackle cabin on the farthest outreaches of the Forbidden Forest where the dense canopy began to give way to woodlands. The cabin appeared lonely and desolate in this remote stretch of wilderness, yet an incongruously cheerful light spilled out of a small window and across the cold ground in a thin, yellow beam. Frowning at the misplaced cheerfulness, Harry drew his wand and crept forward in order to get a closer look at the cabin and determine the best way of taking its occupant by surprise.

" _Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!_ "

The words, spoken in an all-too-familiar scornful tone, hit Harry like a bucket of cold water as his wand flew out of his grasp and ropes coiled around his torso and legs. He overbalanced and fell into an ungainly and undignified heap on the forest floor, the wind knocked from his lungs at the impact. Twisting around, Harry maneuvered to bring his attacker into view, already knowing what he would see.

Snape loomed above him, one arm extended and wand trained steadily on Harry, and Harry's own wand gripped in his other hand at his side. His dark robes billowed and strands of his inky, lank hair whipped in the chill breeze. By way of greeting, the man sneered, "Your stomping through the brush like a herd of erumpents would have alerted me to your presence even had I not had the common sense to set wards around the perimeter of my cabin. Really, Potter, I'm amazed you've lived as long as you have with your utter incapacity for foresight."

"Give me back my wand and fight me like a _real_ wizard, you coward," Harry spat from his prone position. Even Voldemort had given Harry a chance to defend himself in the graveyard. That Snape should bind him and kill him in so casual and unceremonious a fashion seemed utterly anti-climactic and unfair. Of course, the man had never been known for his sense of fair play.

Snape bristled visibly at Harry's words, but his voice was smooth condescension as he said, "As you intended to sneak into my cabin and kill me in my sleep ' _like a real wizard_ '? I think not." He gave his wand a brusque wave, and the ropes fell away from Harry's legs. "Get up," he ordered curtly. "And don't even consider attempting to run."

Managing to get his feet beneath him, Harry rose. "I would never run from you," he ground out between his teeth.

"Then you are an even greater fool than I always imagined," Snape replied. "To the cabin. Go."

With Snape's wand pointed at him and his arms bound, Harry saw little choice but to comply. He decided that he would follow along for the time being, and wait until an opportune moment to gain the upper hand presented itself. His feet felt heavy and his stomach churned with anger and humiliation as he trudged toward the cabin. The door swung open as he reached it, but he paused in the threshold until Snape ordered him, "In, Potter."

Stepping inside, Harry found that the cabin contained no wizard space, but rather it was exactly as it had appeared to be from the outside. A small bed lay to the left of the door, and a frayed sofa sat opposite on the far end of the room. Between the two a crackling fire burned in a brick fireplace, the source of the warm light Harry had seen through the window. To the right was what appeared to be a makeshift potions lab, with two battered cauldrons resting on a long table and various bottles and pouches lining wooden shelves mounted to the wall. Directly across from the entrance was another, smaller door that Harry assumed opened to a water closet. The room was devoid of decorations, but an array of books were stacked haphazardly about the place.

"Over there," Snape directed, and twitched his wand to indicate the end of the room that held the sofa. Harry moved to stand in front of the threadbare piece of furniture then turned to face his captor, his head lifted defiantly.

With another curt wave of Snape's wand, the last of Harry's bonds vanished. Snape chanted something under his breath then, and Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up just before the air between Snape and himself shimmered and shifted. The sensation ended as abruptly as it had begun, and Snape moved to place Harry's wand in plain view on the slim mantlepiece above the hearth.

Turning away from his captive, Snape shifted his attention to a stack of books on his work table. Harry's eyes darted from Snape's retreating form to his wand on the mantle and back again. If he could get to his wand before Snape realized what he was doing, he stood a chance of turning the tables on his captor. Keeping his eyes fixed on Snape's back, he began to move slowly and steadily toward the fireplace… and ran smack into an invisible wall before he had gone a meter. He heard Snape snort in amusement at his expense, and felt certain the man had set him up.

"Bastard!" Harry accused in his indignation.

"Do you truly wish to get into a discussion of parentage with me, Potter?" Snape drawled, arching one eyebrow at Harry.

"Yes, lets have that 'discussion', seeing how it's _your_ fault I don't have any parents, _Snape_!" Harry snarled in retort.

Harry was oddly satisfied to see Snape's features twist in obvious anger. "You know nothing," he spat.

"I know what you did to Dumbeldore," Harry shouted vehemently. "I _saw_ you! I saw you kill him! I was _there_!"

Snape's face went utterly pale at Harry's accusing words, and he looked for all the world as though he might sick up all over the dingy floor of the cabin. However, his tone was steady when he replied darkly, "Are you certain you saw what you think you saw?"

What was the man on about? Harry had seen Snape point his wand, had _heard_ him utter the killing curse. Furious and at a loss for better words, Harry hissed, "I hate you," the brief sentiment filled with every ounce of his loathing.

"I know you do, Potter," Snape replied. With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the shack, slamming the door behind him.

No doubt Snape had gone directly to Voldemort to offer Harry up on a silver platter. Harry needed to escape before Snape could return with a troop of Death Eaters in tow. He gave the invisible wall a test prod and found it solid and unyielding. Tracing its contours revealed no gap or weakness. Hitting it with all his strength only succeeded in producing a glittering effect in the barrier and swollen knuckles in Harry's hands. No angle of approach, no amount of force or finesse allowed him passage. In the end Harry spent a considerable amount of time shouting, " _Finite Incantatem_!" and desperately attempting to bring the wall down by sheer force of will, but to no avail.

At last Harry slumped onto the sofa, drained and defeated. The fire had burned low, and Snape had yet to return. Not wishing to be taken by surprise again, Harry vowed to remain awake until Snape came back, but exhaustion combined with a surprisingly comfortable if shabby sofa soon conspired to lull him into a deep sleep.

* * * * *

Harry awoke gradually, daylight seeping in beneath his eyelids. As he slowly came to awareness, a dull throbbing in his hands served to reminded him of the previous evening's events. Memory flooded in and his eyes snapped open.

Rising up on his elbows and glancing around quickly, Harry found that Snape had returned at some point but had not woken him. He now stood over a steaming cauldron, adding some powdered ingredient with one hand and stirring clockwise with the other. His lips moved slightly, as though he was counting to himself as he stirred. Apparently satisfied with his work, Snape set the stirring rod aside and doused the magical flame beneath the cauldron. At least he said, "Finally awake, I see, Potter."

Having no appropriate response, Harry remained silent. Snape apparently took this as an invitation to continue speaking as he dipped a ladle into the cauldron and began filling a battered goblet with the newly-completed potion. "I couldn't help but notice that you apparently attempted to remove a magical energy barrier with your bare fists after I left last night. The Gryffindor House mascot should be a bull, for the way you lot approach problems. Do try to refrain from being quite so Gryffindor in future; I do not intend to spend another morning brewing a draught to repair the damage you've done yourself in a fit of stupidity."

Taken aback by Snape's words, Harry looked down at his sore hands. His knuckles were reddened, swollen, and turning purplish in a few places. It seemed he had hurt himself a bit more than he had previously thought. Snape had brewed some sort of potion to heal him? Harry was only able to think of one reason why Snape would bother to do so. His voice rough from sleep, Harry accused, "So your Master wants me undamaged when you deliver me to him, I take it."

The ladle paused halfway to the goblet as Snape turned his head to look at Harry, but then the man merely snorted derisively, shook his head, and returned to the task at hand. Once the goblet was filled, he carried it to the edge of the invisible wall that held Harry captive. A casual wave of his wand and a muttered word removed the barrier, and he proffered the goblet to his prisoner.

Sitting up, Harry took the goblet from Snape automatically, but then eyed its contents with suspicion. "Oh for the love of… It's not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done so already," Snape stated with a dramatic roll of his eyes. Snape had a point, Harry decided, and it certainly wasn't as though he had a great deal to lose right about now. He took a deep, fortifying breath, then gulped the steaming liquid down, not bothering to disguise his expression of revulsion at the bitter taste of the concoction.

After passing the empty goblet back to Snape, Harry turned his attention to his hands and watched as the discoloration and puffiness receded. Glancing back up at his gaoler-cum-healer, he found Snape looking down at him with an expression of smug satisfaction. Harry took the look to be a nonverbal 'I told you so' and scowled.

Snorting again, Snape remarked, "I suppose I should know better than to expect any sort of thanks from you, Potter."

"Thanks?!" Harry repeated, feeling his anger surge once again. "I wouldn't have needed healing if you hadn't put me behind a bloody invisible _wall_ in the first place!"

"You never could tell when something was for your own good," Snape replied darkly.

 _For his own good??_ What about this entire situation could possibly be for his own good? Utterly livid and speechless, Harry stared at Snape agape.

"Close your mouth, Potter, you look a dolt," Snape said. "I'm going out. You should eat while I'm away; you'll need your strength." At that, he levitated over a tray laden with eggs, toast, fruit, and tea and brought it to rest on the floor by Harry's feet. Stepping back, he restored the energy barrier, then turned on his heel and left the cabin.

Initially Harry was stubbornly resolved not to eat any food supplied by his captor, but then he began to realize that Snape had been right; if he was to face Voldemort soon, he would need his strength and his wits about him. With this thought in mind, he resentfully gobbled down the provided breakfast, then sat back to wait for Snape to return with a score or so of Voldemort's most loyal.

Harry spent a considerable amount of time -- two hours? three? more? -- alternating between fidgeting on the sofa and pacing back and forth before it. At last Snape returned, but rather than the anticipated host of Death Eaters, he merely brought in a large basket full of plant bits that he appeared to have gathered from the forest. Harry hoped that his sigh of relief was not audible.

Snape did not acknowledge Harry right away, but instead began carefully laying out the items from the basket onto the long work table. Harry watched silently for some time as his former Potions professor carefully cleaned an array of stems, leaves, and roots, trimmed them, bundled them with lengths of string, and hung them to dry. Harry attempted to identify the plants as Snape worked, and he found that he could recall a fair few.

His task completed, Snape abruptly turned to face Harry and gave him a long, appraising look. Refusing to be cowed, Harry met Snape's gaze. Suddenly he felt as though he was back in school, a cheeky student subjected to the disapproving glare of a professor who would never find anything about him or his work satisfactory no matter how hard he tried to prove his worth. Under Snape's scrutiny, he was not the Chosen One, but simply an ordinary young man forced to bear up under an extraordinary role. He felt small and insignificant, yet he also felt _real_ and stripped bare under that intense gaze.

The spell was broken as Snape turned toward the hearth and moved to retrieve Harry's wand from the mantle. He used Harry's own wand to remove the barrier, then offered it to Harry, handle first. Blinking in surprise, Harry slowly reached towards Snape, expecting some trick or trap. Snape allowed him to take his wand from his outstretched hand, however, then backed up a few paces.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Hex me, Potter," Snape goaded. "You've been waiting for this opportunity for years, have you not? Get on with it!"

Indeed this was the very opportunity that Harry had sought, even if it had not come in a way that he might have anticipated. Standing face to face with Snape now, however, Harry was suddenly filled with doubt. The conniving Snape would never have returned his wand if he thought Harry had any chance of winning a duel. Still, he had to try to regain his freedom. Bringing his wand up suddenly, he shouted, " _Stupefy_!"

Snape waved his own wand in an almost lazy arc, blocking Harry's hex, and sneered. Attempting something a bit less traditional, Harry began, " _Inveter--_ "

Again Snape blocked the spell, and this time countered with, " _Silencio_!"

Harry gathered his power internally and focused on negating his opponent's Silencing Charm and throwing a nonverbal curse, but he wasn't quite quick enough. His concentration was broken by a mild Stinging Hex that Snape sent his way.

His ire piqued at the fact that Snape was clearly toying with him, Harry attempted to insult Snape's physique and parentage, momentarily forgetting that he was still under the effects of a Silencing Charm. Apparently amused by this, Snape smirked broadly before firing off another Stinging Hex. This time Harry managed to get up a _Protego_ , but Snape banished it was a flick of his wand, and shot another unpleasant but harmless hex at him, adding insult to injury.

"Pathetic, Potter," the dark man sneered. "You have no hope of defeating the Dark Lord if you cannot ward off a simple Stinging Hex. How is your Occlumency these days, then?"

That was all the warning Snape gave before he shouted, " _Legilimens_!" and forced his way into Harry's mind.

Random memories began to rush to the forefront of Harry's thoughts in single file: dinner at the Weasleys', the cupboard at the Dursleys', a frivolous conversation with Ron and Hermione, the long-forgotten kiss with Cho Chang. That was fine; Snape could have all the personal recollections he wanted. It was essential that Harry keep him away from his memories concerning Voldemort's Horcruxes, and he focused on locking those firmly in the back of his mind behind mental walls.

But it was too late. He had recalled the Horcruxes, and Snape was quick to home in on his train of thought. Snape's mental fists grabbed hold of the crucial memories and began dragging them to the front of the line. The perilous retrieval of Hufflepuff's cup from the burned-out and heavily warded orphanage was brought into vivid clarity. Harry fought the invasion with every ounce of his being, and a burst of wild energy knocked Snape back and forced him out of Harry's mind.

Harry was still recovering from the mental invasion when Snape barked, " _Expelliarmus_ ," and his wand flew from his hand to Snape's. He was dimly aware that the tray from the morning was removed and another was levitated in to take its place, and the barrier was restored. Snape's words, "Get some rest, Potter. You'll need it," and the sound of the door opening and closing again came to him as though from a great distance.

Alone once more, Harry sank onto the sofa. _You really bollocksed that one up, didn't you, Harry?_ he thought bitterly. He had improved his silent spell casting and dueling skills tremendously over the last two years, but as soon as he'd been faced with the reality of fighting Snape, he had choked. He _knew_ that he could have done better, could have held his own, had he not been caught off guard by the entire situation, but now he didn't expect he'd get another chance to prove it.

He hadn't practiced Occlumency, however, and he had no one to blame for that save himself, he supposed. Voldemort had stopped invading his mind after fifth year, so he didn't see the point in learning to keep him out. By the time he faced the Dark Lord again, Occluding would be a moot point, since one or the other of them would end up dead in short order. Besides, any reminder of the botched lessons with Snape only left him seething and made him want little to do with that particular branch of magic.

Which had certainly come back to bite him in the arse now. As soon as Snape reported back to his puppet master, Voldemort would know that Harry had discovered the secret of his Horcruxes, and a very important element of surprise would be lost. On the other hand, if Snape had been testing Harry's skills for Voldemort, then they would both underestimate his abilities in the confrontation to come. Harry attempted to console himself with that thought, but only succeeded in feeling miserable that he had lost so spectacularly to Snape and was thus still imprisoned behind a wall that he couldn't see.

Listlessly Harry ate the food that his captor had provided, and later he spent some time half-heartedly attempting to practice Occluding. He ran through his mental inventory of spells and considered which ones might be useful if he was forced to confront both Snape and Voldemort together -- assuming he would even be able to get his hands on his wand when the time came. As daylight gave way to darkness, he again vowed to stay awake until Snape's inevitable return, and again he succumbed to the lure of sleep not long after.

* * * * *

When Harry awoke the following morning, Snape was once again leaning over a steaming cauldron. _Doesn't the git ever sleep?_ Harry wondered.

Looking around, Harry saw that a breakfast tray had been placed beside the sofa while he slept. Ignoring it for the moment, he turned to examine Snape. Again Snape did not acknowledge him, but remained focused on his potion. Harry watched as he added dried nettles to the cauldron and stirred anticlockwise, then paused to consult a bound stack of parchment. Suddenly Harry was struck by how _serene_ the moment felt, and he nearly snorted aloud at the thought. 'Serene' was not a word he ever would have associated with Snape before, but he couldn't deny that the man looked strangely confident and at peace as he worked.

At last Snape laid the stirring rod aside and reduced the flame beneath the cauldron. Harry continued to watch as Snape picked up a cloth to wipe his hands clean, then turned to face him. Their eyes met, and Harry felt as though he had been caught intruding on a private moment. An uncomfortable silence seemed to stretch out until Harry finally asked, "What were you brewing?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Snape replied, "What do you think I was brewing?"

"How should I know? I'm 'abysmal' at potions, remember?" Harry spat defensively.

"Since it seems you were watching for some time -- did you recognize any of the ingredients?"

Harry sought signs that he was being mocked, but Snape sounded sincere. In fact, his voice had taken on the tone that he had used when teaching, minus the cutting drawl he always directed at the members of Harry's House. Cautiously he ventured to reply, "Nettles."

Snape nodded. "Anything else?"

"Comfrey," Harry said.

"And what are those used for in potions? What are their properties?"

Harry paused a moment to consider, then replied, "Comfrey has soothing properties and reduces pain and swelling… Nettles mend wounds and cure boils and things… They're both used in various healing potions and salves. So you're making some kind of healing potion?"

"Mmm. It's good to know that my time spent in the classroom wasn't a complete waste," remarked Snape by way of reply.

"Yeah, well, I've become pretty familiar with healing potions in the last two years," Harry said darkly. The war had not been pretty, nor had his private quest for the Horcruxes. Nearly everyone had learned at least rudimentary emergency healing out of necessity, and Harry had been forced to patch himself up with whatever was on hand at the time on more than one occasion.

Harry wasn't certain how Snape might react to the indirect dig at his role on the wrong side of the war, but he only gave Harry a peculiar look and said, "Eat, Potter. I shall return shortly," then once again left the cabin.

True to his word, Snape returned only a short time later, levitating in a stack of firewood which he brought to rest neatly beside the hearth. Then Harry was utterly astonished as his captor removed the barrier and returned his wand for the second time in as many days. "Let's see if your dueling skills are any less lamentable today, shall we?" Snape said, his tone dripping disdain.

The words were barely out of Snape's mouth when Harry sent a powerful Shocking Hex at his enemy with a shouted, " _Fulgo_!"

Snape's eyes widened slightly, but he seemed to deflect the spell effortlessly. "Do _not_ make me silence you again," he warned.

Taking the hint, Harry snapped his mouth shut, then concentrated a moment before sending a volley of Stunning Spells at Snape. In response, Snape cast a Shield Charm, and the Stunners bounced away harmlessly. Harry quickly dispelled the shield and threw a petrifaction curse, but it was parried as well.

It was rapidly becoming clear that Harry was losing once again, and he began to feel an edge of panic. If he couldn't defeat Snape in this fashion, so be it, but he _had_ to escape somehow. Looking past Snape, he abruptly made a mad, desperate dash for the door, but he didn't manage three steps before a Trip Jinx sent him sprawling.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," Snape intoned, taking Harry's wand from him again before he had regained his equilibrium. "Your intentions are written all over your face, your stance, your movements. An experienced duelist will see your attacks coming before you've even cast the spells."

Glaring, Harry picked himself up off the cabin floor, and Snape ushered him back toward the sofa. "Economy of movement, Potter," the man continued. "Anything more than a flick of the wrist is a waste of valuable energy and time. You flail your limbs about as though you are wielding a Muggle broadsword rather than a wand, foolish Gryffindor."

"I get it," Harry snarled. "You've beat me three times in three days. You don't have to rub it in."

"Idiot," Snape replied scornfully. "Your ultimate downfall shall be your total inability to take good advice when it is given. If you've half the sense the gods gave a common gnat, you'll practice Occluding as well."

Before Harry could formulate an appropriately scathing retort concerning the quality of Snape's instruction in Occlumency, Snape visibly stiffened and looked away with a sharp hiss. He stood this way for only a moment, then levitated a fresh tray of food over to Harry, replaced Harry's wand on the mantle, and restored the barrier as he had the day before. This time, however, he paused to murmur an additional incantation, and the invisible wall shimmered gold in response. Then, moving swiftly, he built up the fire, checked his simmering potion, grabbed his heavy cloak from the bed, and stepped out of the cabin.

Seemingly unable to resist a parting shot, Snape paused in the doorway and smirked wickedly. "Your notion of a strategic retreat could use some work as well, Potter," he noted, then closed the door behind him.

Infuriated, Harry grabbed the apple from the nearby tray and hurled it toward the door, and watched as it careened off the invisible wall. The sad little apple, now dented on one side, rolled to a stop in the corner. _It's as trapped as I am,_ Harry thought. With a sigh, he moved to retrieve the fallen fruit, and absently shined it on his sleeve as he took a seat on the sofa.

It galled him to admit that Snape might be right, but obviously he was doing _something_ wrong if he couldn't manage to land a single hex. He picked up the fork from the tray and considered it for a moment, then held it out like a wand and gave it a few experimental waves. He felt right ridiculous, brandishing a fork about, and if Snape were to walk in now he would no doubt get quite a laugh at Harry's expense. But if Harry could improve his technique enough to catch Snape off guard and defeat him, then he would have the last laugh.

With this thought in mind, Harry began running through his mental inventory of curses and defensive spells, examining his movements as he performed each one. Since he was now looking for them, he noticed several instances in which his shoulder moved too much, or he lunged forward unnecessarily, and he rehearsed the spells over and over again seeking to minimize his motions. He worked this way for the better part of the afternoon before stopping for lunch, then, since Snape had not returned and he had nothing better to do, resumed practicing into the evening. Exhausted at last, he ate the remainder of the food from the tray and lay back on the sofa.

Harry remembered then what Snape had said about him practicing his Occlumency if he had any sense. It seemed a bit late for that now; Snape had already found out about the Horcruxes. Still, he only knew that Harry had succeeded in obtaining one of them so far. If he could keep Snape from finding out about the rest, it was possible that Voldemort would waste time attempting to gather the scattered bits of himself.

Thus decided, Harry closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind as Snape had instructed him to do in fifth year, but his mind wasn't cooperating. He kept thinking of his dismal situation, trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with his wand just out of reach, and trying to come up with a means of escape. He would succeed in clearing his mind for a few moments before the thoughts came rushing back in unbidden. Eventually his efforts ended when sleep claimed him, and then he thought no more.

Some time later he woke to the sound of the door opening and closing. Feigning sleep, he remained still and silent and attempted to make out Snape's form in the darkened room. Snape -- a dense patch of purest black in the gloom -- leaned heavily on the door for a moment, then slowly moved to check his potion. Apparently satisfied with its progress, he then walked softly towards Harry. Drawing his wand, he whispered an incantation and the barrier again glittered gold. Finally Snape turned and retreated to his bed.

Harry was oddly relieved to know that Snape did, in fact, sleep, not to mention that he once again had not returned with a small army of Death Eaters. Feeling inexplicably _safe_ for the first time in a long while, Harry drifted back into dreams.

* * * * *

Somehow Harry was not surprised to find Snape at his work table again when he next awoke. This time Snape was carefully filling several small vials with the potion that he had started the day before. Harry watched Snape's hands as he held the vials in his long fingers and dexterously filled them without spilling a drop. Once all the vials were capped, Snape turned to find Harry watching, and he wordlessly moved to levitate in the breakfast tray.

Mustering up the courage to break the morning silence, Harry asked, "Where did you go yesterday?"

"None of your business," Snape replied.

Harry pressed on, "It was Voldemort, wasn't it? He summoned you, didn't he?"

" _Do not speak the Dark Lord's name_! Imbecile!" Snape shouted, his features twisting in anger.

"Okay, okay," Harry yielded. "But is that where you were?"

Snape held him in a piercing gaze for a long moment, then conceded, "Yes. That's where I was."

Harry nodded. "Then he knows I'm here?" he asked, strangely calm.

"No," Snape said simply.

That was the one answer for which Harry had not been prepared. He opened his mouth to speak, but when no words were forthcoming, he snapped it shut again. Swallowing loudly, he tried once more, and this time all of his confusion formed into a single word: "Why?"

"You're not completely brainless, Potter. Figure it out," Snape smirked.

Harry had to pinch himself to make certain he wasn't dreaming. Not only had Snape not told Voldemort about his capture, his last words had almost sounded like a compliment.

A little while later when Snape removed the barrier and handed over Harry's wand for the third consecutive day, Harry found that he was not surprised. In fact, he had been anticipating the moment and was anxious to prove that he could perform better than he had done thus far. He didn't wait for Snape to prompt him before he silently sent a Stunner at his opponent.

Caught somewhat unprepared, Snape managed to block the hex, but a bit awkwardly. Snape's eyes widened for an instant, then he quirked one eyebrow in challenge. Harry threw two more hexes in rapid succession, but this time Snape shielded himself with time to spare.

"I can still see your attacks coming a league away," Snape taunted. "You lift your elbow and rotate your shoulder unnecessarily _there_ ," he said as Harry attempted another spell. "If you continue to lean so far forward, you risk overbalancing yourself," he said, sending a stinging hex at Harry's leading foot and smirking broadly as Harry hopped out of the way ungracefully.

Growing frustrated, Harry ground his teeth together and tried a more powerful spell. Again Snape parried it easily and scolded, "Power is not a substitute for skill, Potter! When you become angry, your technique becomes sloppy. I told you once before that if you cannot keep your emotions in check, the Dark Lord will defeat you with absurd ease."

Although he was tempted to shout and throw down his wand in irritation, Harry decided that it would be more productive to take Snape's words to heart if he wished to best his captor. Forcing himself to calm and focus, he cast a weaker but fast Jelly-Legs Jinx. Again Snape blocked, although not quite as quickly, Harry thought.

"Better," Snape said with a curt nod. Then, without warning, he shouted, " _Deicio Corpus; Expelliarmus_!" As Harry flew back onto the sofa and lost his grip on his wand, Snape added, "But still not good enough."

When Snape left the cabin that evening, Harry practiced his spell-casting motions until he was too weary to hold his fork aloft. As he lay on the sofa in the darkened room later still, he mentally dissected the day's events. Snape had not told Voldemort of his capture, and moreover, all appearances seemed to indicate that he was _teaching_ Harry. He hadn't said as much, and his manner was still derisive and caustic, but he had given Harry too much useful advice and critique for it to be unintentional.

The only conclusion that Harry could draw, as unbelievable as it seemed, was that Snape was training him to defeat Voldemort. Did that mean that Snape had actually been on the side of the Order all along? That simply wasn't possible! Snape had killed Dumbledore, right before Harry's eyes. Still… in the moments when he was the most honest with himself, Harry had to admit that there was something about that night on the Astronomy Tower that bothered him, something that didn't add up. He never could put his finger on exactly what it was, and he tried not to think about it too much. Snape killed Dumbledore, Snape was evil, Harry loathed him with every ounce of his being, and that was that.

Now, however, Harry couldn't seem to summon the hatred that had brought him to this isolated shack in the first place. Thoughts of Snape only seemed to trigger a peculiar mix of confusion and determination. And somehow that was more disturbing than the fact that he was imprisoned behind an invisible wall without his wand.

* * * * *

Harry sat up with a loud groan on his fourth morning in the cabin, stiff and sore from the previous two evenings' workouts. Consequently, he learned what Snape's healing potion was for when one of the tiny vials arrived on his breakfast tray. It was further evidence that Snape was, indeed, instructing him, and had intended for Harry to take his advice and practice in his absence.

Picking up the vial and studying it, Harry wondered aloud, "How long were you planning this?"

"I always knew you'd come for me sooner or later, Potter," was Snape's reply.

Over the next several days, the two of them fell into something of a routine. Snape would spend the mornings brewing potions or gathering and treating ingredients, and would occasionally quiz Harry or offer up random bits of information while he worked. Afternoons were spent dueling -- or more accurately with Snape blocking Harry's hexes and insulting his abilities. To his surprise, Harry quickly grew immune to the majority of Snape's taunts and came to recognize the valuable advice that was concealed within. In the evenings Harry practiced what Snape had taught him earlier in the day. They soon gave up the pretense that Harry was practicing behind his captor's back, and Snape stopped purposefully vacating the cabin for hours at a time. Snape snickered openly the first time he saw Harry wielding a fork, but Harry only shot him a withering glare and continued with his exercises.

On the tenth evening of his captivity, Harry laid down his fork with a sigh and picked up an apple from the tray. Flopping down onto the sofa, he idly turned the apple over in his hands and looked across at Snape, who sat reading on the opposite side of the room. Harry had not been surprised to discover that Snape often spent his evenings with his overlarge nose buried in a book or up to his elbows in parchment. What did startle him was how relaxed his former uptight Potions professor appeared at these times.

Now Snape sat on the bed with his back against the wall, one leg bent and a book balanced against his knee. The harsh lines of his face had eased, as though he had become absorbed in his reading and had forgotten to scowl, and the warm glow from the fire further served to soften his features. As Harry watched, Snape brought up one slender hand to deftly turn the page of his book. Harry had found himself watching Snape's hands with increasing frequency as he brewed a potion or demonstrated a spell technique or wrote out notes with quill and parchment. There was something oddly captivating about the fluid and sure motions of those hands that was counter to the rigid and abrasive nature of the man to whom they belonged.

"Did you want something?" Snape suddenly asked in a cool tone without looking up from his book.

"Erm. I was just wondering what you were reading," Harry lied.

Dismissively, Snape said, "Nothing that would interest you, Potter. It doesn't involve Exploding Snap or Quidditch."

"Try me," Harry countered dryly.

Looking up from his book at last, Snape seemed to study Harry for a moment. "Very well. It's a book on magical theory. I'm reading about the ways in which magic is known to react to various metals and alloys. Such information is traditionally employed when selecting cauldrons for complex potions, but I am working on a means of attaching spells to innocuous appearing items for fast, one-time use."

Harry considered this. "Sort of like a Portkey?"

"Yes, very similar," Snape nodded. "But in this case, I'm considering defensive spells."

"So that you could cast a spell in an emergency, even if you didn't have your wand, or didn't want to draw attention to yourself by drawing your wand. You could just," Harry waved his hand vaguely, "Reach up and touch your cloak pin, and activate a shield or become invisible or something."

Snape gave Harry a peculiar look as though he had suddenly sprouted a second head. "Yes, precisely."

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Harry asked, "Do you have anything around here that I might want to read? And don't say you don't have any Quidditch magazines," he added and rolled his eyes.

In response, Snape gave him three books; one fairly comprehensive defense text and two tomes filled with various hexes, some of which were of a rather dubious nature. Harry spent the remainder of the evening skimming through them and pointedly _not_ staring at Snape's hands, or any part of Snape at all for that matter. He was disturbed that he had begun to find Snape more intriguing than intimidating, and he would be both horrified and aroused as _those_ hands became the focus of more than one erotic dream over the next several nights.

* * * * *

After two weeks, Snape unexpectedly broke the routine. He dispelled the barrier and handed Harry's wand over as usual, but rather than challenging Harry to hex him, he stated, "I believe today we shall see whether you are still utterly incapable of Occluding your thoughts."

Harry could only blink in surprise. Once he had realized that Snape had no intention of telling Voldemort about his capture, he had stopped practicing Occlumency. In fact, he had thought no more of it at all. Still, he had become much better at controlling his emotions and keeping his head around Snape, so maybe he could get through this relatively unscathed. Snape allowed him only a moment to clear his mind before he made eye contact and hissed, " _Legilimens_!"

Instantly Harry became intensely aware of Snape's presence in his mind as Snape drew forth a jumbled mass of memories and sifted through them. Attempting to ignore the invasive sensation, he focused on walling off those memories which he most wished to protect and strengthening his mental defenses. With some surprise and embarrassment, Harry realized that he was less concerned about protecting the memories of the Horcruxes than he was about keeping Snape away from the sundry peculiar thoughts he had been having about Snape's hands of late.

Unfortunately, Harry's moment of shock served to destroy his weak defenses and bring said peculiar thoughts to the forefront. He saw Snape's hands through his eyes as Snape prepared ingredients, brewed potions, demonstrated a wand technique, fastened his cloak pin, turned the pages of a book. Panicked, Harry threw a wild and unfocused Stunning Hex, clumsily forcing Snape away from his thoughts and buying himself a moment's reprieve.

Now, however, Snape appeared furious. "This is not a _game,_ Potter, and I will not have you treat it as though it is! We shall continue until you demonstrate some sort of progress! _Legilimens_!" His former professor's sudden venom startled Harry, and he failed to restore his defenses in time. To his horror and dismay, the next memory to surface was that of his most recent dream.

 _The hands were everywhere in the darkness. They touched him all over, wringing gasps of pleasure and sighs of contentment from him as they stoked, scratched, petted, grasped. He threw his head back and arched up into the phantom touch, giving himself over to the masterful attentions. His lover was faceless, invisible, but Harry knew his identity regardless; those deft hands could belong to no other. Losing himself to the exquisite torment, Harry whispered a name..._

Snape lifted one hand to skim lightly across Harry's hair, then the fingers tightened painfully in his wild locks. Black eyes bore into Harry's from inches away as Snape hissed, "Is this what you want?"

Heart racing, Harry opened his mouth to speak but only a strangled sound came out. Snape dropped his hand from Harry's hair, then promptly thrust it up the front of his shirt. Fingers slid over the plane of Harry's chest then paused to pinch one erect nipple, and Harry gasped out, "Oh god!"

"Throw me out of your mind," Snape commanded. "Throw me out and I'll stop." But Harry wasn't entirely certain he wanted Snape to stop. He was terrified and mortified, yes, but he was also incredibly aroused, hard and aching within the confines of his trousers. Fear was an aphrodisiac, hadn't he heard that somewhere once? He tried to come to terms with the fact that _Snape_ , the most prickly, stand-offish tosser ever to draw breath, was touching him, but it was simply too impossible to be believed.

Harry made an effort to gather his wits and his mental defenses, but Snape chose that moment to slide his hand down to Harry's hip and run his fingers along the edge of his trousers. More dream-memory surged forward and Harry moaned. "Throw. Me. Out," Snape repeated, his voice low and rough.

Much too far gone to make another attempt at Occluding, Harry could only thrust his hips forward blindly, seeking _more_. The hand at his waist dropped lower to cup the bulge at the front of his trousers, and Harry's own fingers clawed frantically at the front of Snape's robes. Snape palmed his hardened length through the fabric of his trousers once, twice, three times, and Harry was coming hard, shaking and soiling his pants like a green third-year.

Snape's withdrawal from his mind was so abrupt and forceful that Harry lost his footing and dropped to his knees. He was dimly aware of Snape taking his wand from his limp grasp and restoring the barrier. When he looked up again, it was to see Snape's back as Snape fled the shack.

* * * * *

When Snape returned to the cabin late that night, Harry was woken from the throes of another rather vivid dream. The following morning, Snape behaved as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the previous day and continued with their dueling practice as usual. Harry couldn't look Snape in the eye, however, and the tension between them was palpable.

Yet within a few days, things returned to normal. As 'normal' as being held prisoner behind an invisible wall by your second worst enemy while he trained you to defeat your first worst enemy could possibly be, at any rate. Snape had begun coaching him on how to recognize when a silent attack was coming, the result of which was that Harry sustained more bruises and hex marks than he ever thought possible and grew accustomed to the bitter taste of the healing draught. In the process, however, he learned how a widening of the eyes of a twitch of the forearm could give away his opponent's intentions, and when it was better to dodge than to shield.

During this time Harry realized that he had also learned how to recognize the often rather backhanded compliments that were buried within Snape's biting remarks, and he even found humor in Snape's dark sarcasm. Soon Harry's driving objective was less about beating his captor than it was about pleasing his instructor, and this change baffled him.

It had grown colder outside the cabin, and the crisp scent of imminent snow gusted in on the chill air any time Snape opened the door. They spent their evenings with the fire blazing high, Harry practicing his maneuvers or reading about new curses, Snape turning the pages of a book or taking notes. If Snape knew that Harry still watched his hands out of the corner of his vision, then he pretended not to notice.

Harry had been in the shack for roughly a month when Voldemort summoned Snape for the second time. It was early in the evening when Snape dropped his quill and hissed sharply, as if in pain. Tossing the book he had been perusing aside carelessly, Harry quickly moved forward as far as the barrier would allow. "What is it? It's _him_ again, isn't it?" he asked in alarm.

Snape shot him a pointed glare and didn't answer. He stood and grabbed up his heavy cloak, but rather than leaving immediately, he walked over to the edge of the barrier where Harry stood. Drawing his wand, Snape murmured an incantation, and the wall shimmered gold. Then he gave Harry an inscrutable look, his face a blank, impassive mask. "I'll be back, Potter," he said at last, then turned and swept out the door.

Focusing on hexes and defense was impossible for the remainder of the evening, and attempts to puzzle out what Snape had done to the barrier or what the look had meant only served to frustrate Harry further. The fire had long since burned low by the time Snape returned, but Harry was still awake. He lay on the sofa and watched as Snape did whatever it was to make the wall glitter again before retreating to the bed. "Are you all right?" Harry asked, his whisper sounding startlingly loud to his own ears in the darkened room.

"I'm fine. Go back to sleep," Snape replied tersely. Harry didn't bother pointing out that he hadn't been asleep in the first place and did as Snape instructed.

* * * * *

His latest rendezvous with the Dark Lord seemed to strengthen Snape's resolve to improve Harry's Occlumency if it killed them both. He resumed training Harry in the skill the following afternoon, assaulting him mentally with unusual intensity. Harry tried to resist the invasion but met with minimal success. This sort of defense was not one of his strong points to begin with, and recollections of what happened during their last session distracted him.

To Harry's astonishment, Snape continued the Occlumency training the next day, and the next, and it quickly became a part of their daily routine, much to Harry's chagrin. Snape remained carefully controlled during these sessions, as though he feared a repeat of their previous dubious encounter should he allow his emotions or reactions to get out of check. While they might smirk, snipe, banter, or bicker with each other at virtually any other time, Snape would instantly shut down the moment the first " _Legilimens_ " had passed his lips. Harry hated this muted, flat version of Snape, and he found that he had even less desire to learn to Occlude than ever.

Eventually, however, the inevitable occurred. After close to three weeks with no substantial improvement, Snape finally grew exasperated with Harry's inability to focus. Dropping his wand arm to his side in disgust, he shouted, "What do I have to do to get you to practice at this?!"

"How about give me some damned incentive?!" Harry yelled back, equally nettled. The furious look on Snape's face told him he had made a grave tactical error. _Oh shit,_ he thought.

Snape's next mental attack hit Harry with such force that he was knocked off his feet, and he dimly registered the impact of his knees hitting the floor. Random memories sped by in a dizzying whirl. One notion came to him then, and he latched onto it: If the bastard wanted his thoughts, he'd give them to him. Harry concentrated for one moment, and then--

 _The hands were all over him, those hands, Snape's hands. Harry was atop an endless sea of flowing satin, garmentless, writhing in delirious euphoria as long fingers trailed over all of his most sensitive spots. Again he could not see his lover, but this time he could hear him. Snape's rich voice murmured erotic, encouraging words close to his ear, so close that Harry could feel Snape's hot breath on his neck…_

The flow of Harry's sexually charged dream imagery was forcibly stopped short. When Harry's vision cleared, he saw that Snape had turned a range of colors that would do Vernon Dursley proud. " _No_ , Potter, none of that," Snape snarled. "You will take this seriously! _Legilimens_!"

Using all of his concentration to focus around the mental onslaught, Harry staggered to his feet. He had to stop this, to protect himself, to prove that he was a capable wizard. Laboriously he raised his wand and took deliberate aim. He screamed the first spell that came to his mind, putting all of his force of will behind it. " _Legilimens_!"

And the stream of thoughts reversed direction.

 _An incoherent rush of moments in a life, and then time settled onto a single occasion. It was that time, the time that he had abused his power, the time that he had dared to touch Potter. His captive's cheeks were flushed pink, lips stained cherry red, eyes of purest green locked on his as the young man trembled. It was the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed, and quite possibly the most reprehensible thing he had ever done. When it was over, Snape fled the cabin, unable to think, afraid of what he might do if he remained._

He crashed headlong through the underbrush, only coming to rest when he was winded and panting. He leaned heavily against the nearest tree, catching his breath for a few moments. Self-loathing and mortification caught up to him then and he sank to his knees, stricken. He knew that it would be well past nightfall before he found the courage to return to the cabin. He also knew that he would never allow anything like this to happen again. Never.

Time gradually sped up, and more and more moments flashed by: Potter successfully blocking a silent curse, practicing his wand work, chewing his lip absently as he read a book on defense, casting a powerful new hex, correctly answering a potions-related question. Overlying all of this was an ever-increasing respect for the young man's skill and determination, deep personal pride in his progress, and a very real hope for the ultimate defeat of the Dark Lord.

A steel wall slammed down and the memories were cut off. Harry's eyes focused on Snape -- the here and now Snape -- once more, and he found the man visibly shaking with barely contained anger. Snape turned away, and Harry's one panicked thought was that he could _not_ let him leave the cabin again.

"Wait! Wait, no! You didn't… You didn't take advantage of me. I wanted it. I _do_ want it." Harry recognized the truth in his words as soon as they had left his mouth. He had tried to deny it for weeks, but somewhere along the way he had become acutely, inexplicably attracted to Snape. He flushed with embarrassment but staunchly refused to look away as Snape turned a penetrating gaze on him.

The next thing Harry knew, Snape was standing mere inches from him, one hand thrust up beneath Harry's shirt. "This is the sort of 'incentive' you had in mind earlier, I take it?" he drawled as he scraped his nails down Harry's spine. Harry's reply was an incoherent sound that tried to be words but failed. "As I recall, it wasn't especially effective the last time I employed it," Snape went on, his fingers tracing tight circles at the small of Harry's back.

Afraid that Snape would stop, Harry clutched at Snape's robes, attempting to pull him closer. "Please…" he managed to whimper.

"I see…" Snape said quietly, more to himself than to Harry it seemed. Sliding his palm around to Harry's chest, Snape strode forward swiftly, forcing Harry to back up until he hit the wall behind him with a harsh grunt. Surging forward, Snape captured Harry's mouth in a bruising kiss. The meetings of teeth and tongues was rough, demanding, and Harry struggled to keep up, moaning loudly when he could remember to breathe at all. Snape forced one of his legs between his, and Harry reflexively ground against the thigh that was suddenly pressed into his crotch. An unmistakable hardness dug into his hip, and Harry was surprised to realize that Snape was aroused by this as well.

"You want this?" Snape asked, tearing his mouth savagely from Harry's.

"God yes," Harry groaned, and he tangled his fists in Snape's robes and thrust against his thigh as if to demonstrate exactly how much he did, in fact, want it.

"Then earn it," Snape demanded, and once more murmured, " _Legilimens_!"

Snape ran his hand across Harry's chest to toy with one nipple, and Harry groaned in frustration as Snape's thigh withdrew somewhat. "No, Potter," Snape said unyieldingly. "You do not get release until _I_ say you do, and I say you must _throw me out of your mind first_."

Harry whimpered and attempted to pull Snape closer, but Snape only pressed further into his mind and commanded, "Focus, Potter."

The mental fingers probing his thoughts made the moment intensely intimate and surreal, and Harry was certain that he had never _needed_ so badly in all his life. His power surging, he concentrated all of his desire into a near-tangible wall in his mind, and that wall slammed down with the force of a thousand spells.

Reeling from the shock and righting himself quickly, Snape fell upon Harry with a feral growl. He tore open the fastenings of Harry's trousers and drew out his hard, throbbing prick. Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head as Snape wrapped his hand around him and took up a fast, punishing stroke. The tension, the intensity, the Legilimency, the hand were all too much, and it was mere moments before Harry was wailing like nothing human and spilling himself violently onto Snape's robes, a spray of fluid white on crisp black.

Once he had returned to himself, Harry leaned against the wall and languidly reached for the buttons of Snape's robes. Snape, however, evaded Harry's hands and turned away. "No," he said firmly, "This is not about me." Their Occlumency session thus ended, Snape restored the barrier and went about the remainder of the daily routine as though nothing unusual had occurred, to Harry's great consternation and perplexity.

* * * * *

Harry trudged back through the thick snow toward the cabin, sore, tired, and already thankful for the healing potion that would arrive on his breakfast tray the next morning. He and Snape had taken to moving their training sessions out of doors, where Snape began instructing Harry in the fine art of stealth ("you lumber about like a three legged yak"), and in how to use the terrain to his advantage when dueling ("nice curse, Potter, but I don't believe the bush was a threat"). The result was that he had been taken by surprise and knocked flat on his arse more times than he could count, and it was usually one of his favorite parts of the day.

In addition to his other skills, Harry was at last displaying marked improvement in Occlumency. Over the weeks following Harry's invasion of his former professor's thoughts, Snape discovered that Harry's notion of 'incentive' worked remarkably well. Snape sardonically argued that if Harry, a young man in his sexual prime, could resist mental invasion while on the brink of orgasm, then surely he could do it under stress or torture. Harry responded by saying that Snape's methods _were_ torture. Not that he was complaining.

As this new dynamic in their interactions developed, Snape brought Harry to completion in any number of awe-inspiring ways, but Harry was never allowed to reciprocate. It was always about Harry's progress and Harry's pleasure alone, and Snape remained carefully controlled. Harry cynically suspected that the irascible git snuck off into the woods to wank when he was supposed to be looking for potions ingredients or firewood. Regardless, he couldn't deny that the methods were effective. As Harry's life gradually unfolded, one insignificant scrap of memory at a time, his ability to resist Snape's mental assaults increased a hundred fold.

Harry stomped the snow from his trainers and entered the welcoming warmth of the shack. Handing his wand over and watching as Snape restored the barrier, Harry said, "I think I did really well today. I mean, I was good, yeah?"

"If you call landing on your arse in a puddle of slush -- twice-- and setting a tree on fire 'good', then certainly," Snape retorted with a smirk.

"I don't suppose I can claim that burning the tree was an intentional distraction technique?" Harry asked. "Yeah, I didn't think so," he grinned after seeing Snape's sour expression. "But I managed to hit you with both a Blasting Curse _and_ an Impediment Jinx, _and_ I dodged your volley of Stunners."

Arching an eyebrow, Snape retorted, "Perhaps so, but would you care to count bruises to determine who came out the 'winner'?"

"Yes, lets! You can start stripping any time," Harry said eagerly with a pointed lascivious look.

Snape only rolled his eyes and shook his head. A bit crestfallen at last, Harry repeated dejectedly, "Well. I still think I did all right."

"I am quite possibly less displeased with you than ever, Potter," Snape finally conceded.

Harry grinned.

* * * * *

"Severus?"

" _What_ did you just call me?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, it's your name, innit? You're not a 'Professor' anymore, even though you're teaching me, so I can't really call you that. And you always hated it if I called you 'Snape'. What else should I call you?"

"Since I _am_ still your elder and your intellectual superior, 'Sir' would not be inappropriate," Snape suggested darkly.

Making a face of revulsion, Harry retorted, "Considering the fact that you've had your hands down my pants, calling you 'Sir' might be more than a little creepy."

"Point taken."

After a brief silence, Harry asked quietly, "When do you think I'll be ready?"

"Soon," was Snape's reply.

"How soon is 'soon'?"

"Soon enough."

* * * * *

"Severus?"

" _Must_ you call me that?"

Harry chose to take the question as rhetorical and ignored it. "Do you ever miss teaching?"

"Surely you jest," Snape snorted.

"Yeah, all right, fair enough," Harry smirked. "You were rotten at it anyway." Snape merely lifted an eyebrow in warning at that. "Do you ever miss Hogwarts, then?" Harry pressed on, undaunted.

"I suppose I miss some things about it," Snape admitted.

"Such as..?" Harry prompted.

"Such as my private chambers. My potions and ingredients stores. My private lab. My dungeons in general. Not to mention," Snape added wryly, "Three meals per day that I wasn't required to prepare for myself plus a fully stocked liquor cabinet."

Affecting an innocent demeanor, Harry said, "Are you suggesting we drove you to drink, Professor?"

"Daily," Snape replied.

"And the Headmaster didn't care if you had an entire off license shop in your rooms?"

Snape snorted. "Please. You would be scandalized to hear what he and Minerva would get up to over the winter hols when a bottle or five of scotch was involved."

* * * * *

"Severus?"

"Hmm."

"Why'd you do it?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Why did I do what?" Snape replied without looking up from his book.

"Why'd you kill him?"

Snape was silent for so long that Harry thought he didn't intend to answer, but at last he said simply, "Because he asked me to."

Harry thought about Snape's answer and realized that he was not at all surprised by it, and he nodded in acceptance.

* * * * *

"Potter."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, lowering his fork and turning toward Snape.

"You did well today."

Harry grinned. "Thanks. And was that a compliment? I must have hit you with that _Confundus_ after all!"

"You're being sarcastic," Snape pointed out helpfully.

"I learn from the best," Harry retorted.

"So it would seem. Frankly, I find it rather remarkable that you've managed to learn anything from me at all. Merlin knows I never made an impression on your thick skull in six years of being your professor," Snape said wryly.

"Yeah, well, things change," Harry said with a shrug. "I figure Professor Dumbledore was right a few years back."

"He usually was," Snape said in a dismayed tone. After a moment he added, "I should like to see his grave one day."

Harry looked surprised for a moment, then his eyes shone with determination. "Then we'll go, once everything is all over."

"I didn't say I wanted you there with me," Snape groused.

"Too bad. I'm going with you anyway."

"Impertinent brat," Snape complained, although Harry didn't think he truly sounded annoyed.

* * * * *

After a long period of silence, Voldemort at last summoned Snape to him again. It was still cold, but the snow had long since given way to seemingly endless rain, and a scent that foretold the coming of spring blew in on the wind. The unlikely pair in the remote cabin studied late into the evening, each at their own tasks, by the light of the blazing fire. Harry had just put his book down for the night and was in mid-stretch when Snape suddenly jerked his head up, a pinched expression on his stark features.

"What is it?" Harry asked, although he suspected he already knew. When Snape failed to answer, Harry's suspicions were confirmed. "Don't go," he pleaded suddenly.

With a snort, Snape said, "Don't be ridiculous. I must go." Flashing Harry a stern expression, he added, "I'll be fine. I always am."

Harry wasn't so certain of that, but he could only watch helplessly as Snape rushed to gather his boots and cloak. Before leaving the cabin, Snape strode to the edge of the barrier, gave Harry an enigmatic look, and intoned the charm that caused the glittering effect in the usually invisible wall. After Snape had gone, Harry told himself he was worrying excessively. Snape had navigated Voldemort's inner circle for years, and he always made it out relatively unscathed. However, the long silence followed by the sudden summons disturbed Harry, and the growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach wouldn't allow him to believe his own empty reassurances.

Eventually he managed to doze off, but he slept fitfully, plagued by disturbing dreams throughout the night. When he awoke, early morning daylight was seeping in through the small window, and Snape had not yet returned. Jumping up from the sofa, Harry paced back and forth in front of the barrier like a caged animal, wishing he were free so that he could help Snape. Not that he had any evidence that Snape was actually in need of help. Not that he would have the first idea as to how to go about finding him even if he was.

Frustrated, Harry sat down again and wrapped his arms around himself. The fire had burned out some time during the night, and it was growing cool in the shack. Surely Snape would return soon to light the fire and deliver breakfast and insult Harry for his unnecessary anxiety. He'd simply have to wait.

Several hours later, Harry was still waiting. Daylight was now waning, and he was hungry and cold. Although he was able to cast simple warming charms wandlessly, the heat they produced was quickly dispelled by the encroaching chill. It only grew worse as full night fell and Snape had still not come back. By this point Harry had uselessly envisioned any number of scenarios that might explain his captor-turned-mentor's absence, and they all involved Snape broken and bleeding someplace hostile.

Later still, Harry, exhausted, huddled beneath his only blanket and slipped in and out of sleep. At once a subtle change in his surroundings had him instantly awake and alert. He sat bolt upright just in time to see the barrier shimmer with an eerie silver light. Silver. Not gold. Very cautiously Harry rose and approached the invisible wall, coming to a stop at its border. He reached out one hand very slowly to touch the energy made manifest… and his fingers passed through empty air.

Harry blinked. The wall was gone. He was free! Immediately he transfigured his blanket into a sturdy cloak and made for the door, but he stopped short with his hand on the handle. Where would he go? He had prepared to leave with no destination in mind. While the notion of gaining his freedom and returning to Order Headquarters to regroup had been his goal a few months ago, it held no allure for him now. If he wished to go anywhere, it was to assist Snape, and he had no notion of where Snape might be.

With a heavy sigh, Harry turned away from the door and moved to the hearth. After tossing a bundle of wood into the aperture, he took his own wand from the mantle and started a roaring blaze. Gazing into the flames, he sat down in front of the fire to wait for Snape once more. Sitting, however, soon turned to pacing, and pacing gave way to shouting in frustration and kicking the sparse furniture. He had to _do_ something.

Books. Snape had quite a lot of books. Perhaps Harry could find a spell in one of them that would allow him to locate a person. Assuming, of course, the person he wished to locate was even still alive. Harry picked up a random stack of books and carried them over to the fire for perusal. Pointedly ignoring the traitorous part of his mind that told him the disappearance of the magical barrier could be an indication that the caster's life had ended, he set to work.

* * * * *

Several hours later, Harry was no closer to finding a way to locate Snape, but he had been relieved to discover that the abrupt disappearance of the barrier didn't necessarily mean that Snape was dead. He had stumbled across Snape's notes on the magical energy wall that he had evidently invented, and was able to discern that the gold glittering business was some sort of timer. It seemed that Snape had set the barrier to dispel itself if he failed to return within twenty-four hours.

As darkness turned to daylight and his legs grew stiff, Harry moved from the floor to the bed and continued his search. This was where he sat, half buried in odd tomes, when the door to the shack suddenly burst open. Snape himself stumbled through the entryway and, appearing to run out of momentum, collapsed to his hands and knees. Snape, put bluntly, was a bloody mess. His clothing was torn, his hair an even greater disaster than usual, and his face was bruised angry shades of purple and black. One eye was nearly swollen shut, and blood trailed sluggishly from the corner of his mouth and down one temple. Harry gasped at the sight of him.

The inhalation of breath seemed to draw Snape's attention, and his head spun to the side. As his eyes fixed on Harry he sneered. "You. I had thought you would be long gone by now," he remarked, his voice sounding rough and strained. "Decided to stay for retribution, did you? This is what you've been waiting for, isn't it? Go on. Finish me, Potter!"

Harry could only shake his head at the unexpected venom. Surely Snape couldn't truly think that of him now... ? Springing from the bed, Harry abandoned the books in favor of Snape's sparse but orderly potions stores. In moments, he knelt before Snape with two vials of the healing draught in hand. "Here, take these," he said quietly, his tone clearly expressing his concern.

Snape eyed Potter warily but did as instructed, and Harry watched as the worst of the injuries healed themselves before his eyes. Relieved that Snape didn't appear to be irreparably damaged, he joked shakily, "So this is your idea of 'fine', eh?"

When Snape shot him a disdainful glare in response, Harry took it as further evidence that Snape was not excessively harmed, for all that he looked like death warmed over. Helping Snape to his feet and over to the bed, he asked, "What happened?"

"The Dark Lord finally realized I believed him to be a complete megalomaniacal madman, obviously," Snape answered sarcastically as he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "I took advantage of the ensuing chaos and got away -- eventually."

"Did he…" Harry swallowed. There were too many questions to which he would rather not know the answers for now. "Did you tell him about me?"

" _I told him nothing_ ," Snape said fervently.

Harry felt a surge of pride and admiration for his Snape then. "Thank you," he said with feeling. "Now. I think we can forego trudging through the forest today. You should get some rest. You look like hell, you know," he pointed out with a wan smile.

"Potter!" Snape snapped, ignoring Harry's last words. "They will be looking for me. You're no longer safe here."

"Well then neither are you!" Harry exclaimed.

"I am of no consequence."

"The hell you aren't!" Harry retorted. Looking at Snape then, Harry realized how much he must have sacrificed over the years, and he'd be damned if he would let it end like this. Snape was speaking again, but Harry wasn't listening. Instead his mind was working rapidly, attempting to think of a means of protecting them both.

"Fidelius!" Harry said suddenly. "We can put you and this cabin under Fidelius, with me as your Secret-Keeper."

"Absolutely not, Potter. I cannot allow you to put yourself at such risk on my account," Snape said firmly.

"The risk is minimal. No one knows that I've spent these last months with you, so no one will know to ask me your whereabouts," Harry reasoned. "They all think I still hate you and would gladly hex you on sight, remember?"

It seemed Snape couldn't deny that Harry's logic was sound. "You'll not allow me a moment's peace until I agree to this, will you?" he remarked, defeated.

Harry shook his head. "So how do we do it?"

"The Fidelius Charm is incredibly complex magic, bound up in ritual, but it is not especially difficult to perform." Snape slipped into a rough version of his usual lecturing tone as he spoke. "The components of the process are designed to display faithfulness and to bind together the casters and the other objects or individuals to be protected. The spell reads intent. That is, if one of the casters is not sincere in his desire to perform it, or intends to betray that which is being put under protection, it won't work."

"Oh, believe me, I'm quite sincere," Harry said adamantly. "How long do we need to prepare? Can we start now?"

"Perhaps that would be best," Snape agreed, sounding exhausted.

A few minutes later, they had both taken a stimulant draught that Snape kept on hand and were discussing the necessary components of the spell. Within an hour, it was done. The magic was of a strangely intimate sort, Harry realized. During the casting, he felt as though he was inextricably connected to Snape and to the small cabin. He was keenly aware of Snape's presence, of his character and his identity, perhaps of the very essence of what it meant to be Severus Snape. Similarly Harry could sense the cabin as though it had a consciousness as well, one that was a sum of the history of the place and all the events that had ever transpired within it. When it was finished, there was no need to ask whether the casting had been successful.

It was only a few minutes more before Harry had built up the dwindling fire, and both he and Snape lay on the small bed, Harry's arm thrown over Snape protectively. Harry was infinitely grateful that Snape was too exhausted to put up more than a token protest. "Must you cling to me like some sort of deranged parasite?" Snape groused, but Harry noted he wasn't doing anything to remedy the situation.

"Mmm," Harry agreed sleepily. "'M not going back to the sofa."

Snape must have accepted this argument, since seconds later they were both asleep.

* * * * *

Harry awoke to the pleasant sensation of fingers stroking through his hair. As soon as he stirred, the fingers stopped. It was dark outside the cabin, and the fire had burned down to glowing embers. Harry could feel Snape breathing and could just make out Snape's distinctive profile in the dim light.

"You cannot simply hide here forever, Fidelius or no," Snape said quietly.

 _So much for 'good morning',_ Harry thought wryly. Propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at Snape, he said, "Actually, I think I can, but that's beside the point, since I hadn't planned to do."

"You're ready. And he must be stopped."

"I know," Harry said. He leaned down then and pressed his lips very lightly to Snape's.

"Mmph, Potter, don't…" Snape began and reached up as though to push Harry away.

Placing two fingers over Snape's lips, Harry whispered, "Hush. Let me," then resumed kissing Snape.

Harry could sense the moment that Snape gave in. The tension drained from his wiry form, and his breath left him in a soft sigh. The arms that had been raised to push Harry away now slid around him and pulled him closer.

The kiss was not a frenzied struggle for dominance, but rather a languid exploration of lips and tongues and mouths. Harry was quickly lost in it, and he wasn't quite aware of how he came to be laying on top of Snape, their legs entwined. Harry's heart pounded, his cock throbbed, his whole being resonated with want. He became aware of an answering hardness aligned with his own, and he groaned into Snape's mouth.

Snape swallowed Harry's groan, repaid it with a low sound of his own. When Harry reached for the myriad fastenings of Snape's tattered robes, he again felt Snape tense. However, Snape did not resist as Harry slowly worked open each button and clasp and ran his fingers along every new expanse of skin as it was exposed. At last Snape was laid bare, and Harry wished nothing more than to glide his palms over every inch of his, memorizing every plane and curve by feel. As Snape arched up into his touch, he remembered his very vivid dreams of writhing under the influence of Snape's masterful hands, and he was strangely awed that the roles seemed to have been reversed.

Snape's patience for such pleasurable torment was limited at present, and it was not long before he was pulling off Harry's shirt, tugging at the button of Harry's trousers. Once Harry was stripped, Snape took him by the wrists and pulled him back down into another ardent, lingering kiss. Harry felt firm hands sliding down his back, felt fingers digging into the pliant flesh of his arse, felt himself being pulled closer, closer. Snape ground their hips together, and Harry broke free from his mouth to give a sharp shout.

He was moving then, thrusting, sliding along Snape's body beneath him. Their erections, trapped between their stomachs and hips, slid exquisitely in the growing pool of hot sweat and precome. This was not a challenge or an incentive, but something far simpler; a primal dance dating back to the beginning of time, perfectly realized in this moment.

It was too much, too much. The world was going white around the edges and Harry was hurtling toward release. Caught in the momentum, he could only hope that Snape was with him, and that it wasn't too soon. Nearly insensible, he shouted, "God! Severus! I--!"

Snape's fingers dug in harder and he hissed, "Yesssss…."

The whispered, sibilant permission sent him over the edge. Harry cried out incoherently as his orgasm tore through him. Snape continued moving Harry above him a few moments more, then Harry felt a liquid warmth spurting and spreading against his stomach. Snape was utterly silent as he climaxed, as though he had been robbed of breath, and he held Harry tightly against him as he shook wildly.

* * * * *

Morning came to the cabin entirely too soon, Snape thought. With the rational light of day came a return to responsibility, to a world in which duty and evil existed. Potter -- his lover? Could he think of him as such? -- had risen with the sun and dressed with an air of determination. Over breakfast, Snape had told him where the Dark Lord could be found and how he might be best approached.

The day was considerably warmer, the first real day of spring, perhaps, as Potter prepared to leave. Had Snape been a superstitious man, he might have taken it for a good omen. Potter opened the door, but paused before stepping through. He turned to face Snape, green eyes flashing. "Don't worry Severus. I'll kill the bastard. And then I'll be back for you."

The words that could have been a deadly threat mere months ago now held only promise.

As he watched the brilliant young man, all fire and confidence and Gryffindor courage, exit the cabin, Snape whispered after him, "See that you do… Harry."


End file.
